The Histrionics of Asteroids

[Thunderembargo]

Perhaps it was an Arabian rock, my eyes misting the clouds
of the heightened slopes steep and hidden
from Hadley's Rille ridged to the Fra Mauro
like the Snows of Kilimanjaro 
with spring vermouth 
your raspberry lips affectionate 
and haunted like a cheap wine .

First opened on the meadow beneath the snowfields 
where the milk of melted snows 
turned into rivers .
I opened the cinnamon tincture to turn you out
like a cheap whore smokin' with Bolsanoro 
on a vacation cruise to pompador Saturn
talk about a Titan of Industry, how bout a Titan of Saturn!.............?
and caused your heart to blossom promise 
true to the one; and, the many ..
turned against you with your beauty against 
all possibility of hopes to grow something new 

Across the fields the wind crept up and lifted the hot sage 
currying such sweet smells that we could not believe
would last except for the nutmeg 
to go with your morning liquor 
and the scent of life to trace, the promise.....
you could not help but keep
but keep your promise to me looking above into the sky 
for mysteries 
and then below.
into the valley 
where the quiet villagers keep 
the light that was given to them 
by Prometheus, an enigma and a hectare

[billy]

okay, i know it's in intensive but sadly it's beyond my ability to give adequate feedback for here. but and this is a bit but, thsi is my fault. i love the piece can lose myself in the places, see the metaphors and taste some of them; in fact some of the images are excellent.  i will return and read it a few more times.  sorry for my lack of feedback, i just wanted to respond to the piece.

Perhaps it was an Arabian rock, my eyes misting the clouds
of the heightened slopes steep and hidden
from Hadley's Rille ridged to the Fra Mauro
like the Snows of Kilimanjaro 
with spring vermouth 
your raspberry lips affectionate 
and haunted like a cheap wine .

First opened on the meadow beneath the snowfields 
where the milk of melted snows 
turned into rivers .
I opened the cinnamon tincture to turn you out
like a cheap whore smokin' with Bolsanoro 
on a vacation cruise to pompador Saturn
talk about a Titan of Industry, how bout a Titan of Saturn!.............?
and caused your heart to blossom promise 
true to the one; and, the many ..
turned against you with your beauty against 
all possibility of hopes to grow something new 

Across the fields the wind crept up and lifted the hot sage 
currying such sweet smells that we could not believe
would last except for the nutmeg not keen on the enjambment of this and the above line
to go with your morning liquor 
and the scent of life to trace, the promise.....
you could not help but keep
but keep your promise to me looking above into the sky 
for mysteries 
and then below.
into the valley 
where the quiet villagers keep 
the light that was given to them 
by Prometheus, an enigma and a hectare

[Thunderembargo]

okay, i know it's in intensive but sadly it's beyond my ability to give adequate feedback for here. but and this is a bit but, thsi is my fault. i love the piece can lose myself in the places, see the metaphors and taste some of them; in fact some of the images are excellent.  i will return and read it a few more times.  sorry for my lack of feedback, i just wanted to respond to the piece.

Perhaps it was an Arabian rock, my eyes misting the clouds
of the heightened slopes steep and hidden
from Hadley's Rille ridged to the Fra Mauro
like the Snows of Kilimanjaro 
with spring vermouth 
your raspberry lips affectionate 
and haunted like a cheap wine .

First opened on the meadow beneath the snowfields 
where the milk of melted snows 
turned into rivers .
I opened the cinnamon tincture to turn you out
like a cheap whore smokin' with Bolsanoro 
on a vacation cruise to pompador Saturn
talk about a Titan of Industry, how bout a Titan of Saturn!.............?
and caused your heart to blossom promise 
true to the one; and, the many ..
turned against you with your beauty against 
all possibility of hopes to grow something new 

Across the fields the wind crept up and lifted the hot sage 
currying such sweet smells that we could not believe
would last except for the nutmeg not keen on the enjambment of this and the above line
to go with your morning liquor 
and the scent of life to trace, the promise.....
you could not help but keep
but keep your promise to me looking above into the sky 
for mysteries 
and then below.
into the valley 
where the quiet villagers keep 
the light that was given to them 
by Prometheus, an enigma and a hectare

You are probably very right; I want for dry spice in the poem, yet it falls oddly into the poem, I think the entire project needs to be re-worked, including the title---which is sort of a shock title